I take a seat inside the cafe and order a bottle of water. My abs are pulled tight, my pussy contracted. I’m holding it together, but the anticipation of seeing him is fizzing over inside. To smell him, recycle his breath, and feel the texture of his skin slick against mine, creating a new, shared scent together, are my most compulsive desires. My mind is racing with all the everything we’ve promised to do to each other.
My overnight bag is ready at my side, packed with lingerie, heels, minimal make-up, restraints, toys, and my lucky pair of dice chiseled from green onyx, tucked into the side pocket in a black velvet drawstring pouch. As I feel around for them, I spot the profile of his tall frame, all 6’4 of it, unexpectedly walk past the front window. Scandinavian modelesque, he’s wearing a navy blue jacket with red piping along the collar worn popped-up. His slim jeans fit him right. His Nike Internationalists tie it all together. The eyes. The curls. The perfectly shaped nose. The broad, strong, square shoulders – the pronounced erectness of him. He’s headed towards the hotel and I want to run to him but I am not breathing. My body: frozen. My mouth: gaping. My pussy: deluged with wetness. I shift my weight in my seat to even out my moisture. He excites me. I grab the handles of my bag and head over to the hotel bar. There, I wait patiently for his ready signal.
The butterflies in my belly flit around. The green box on my phone screen chimes.
